He thought if he could just rub hard enough, rub his skin numb, his hands just might erase the memory of the entire day. “I can’t do this.” he ...hought, then cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled back into the empty studio, “I’m a god damned Michelin mutherfucking Star, Cordon Bleu Chef, and that pisshead, Durant, can find another babysitter for his golden boy”. He fell back onto his chair as he felt all his breath expel at once, bereft of will, he rocked back on two legs letting the. He had told her “A client had rung and booked her,” (that the phone was a payphone in the downstairs communal hallway, did not click with our dear girl. Neither that she had not once advertised!) The ‘client’ wined and dined our heroine royally, picking her up from her door in the works van, and taking her to ‘Perry`s’ restaurant. A well-known eatery, described in the yellow pages as ‘fairly clean’ That the van belonged to his work as a fel-monger at the tanning factory and stank worse. More

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